Welcome back, blogees. That's right- not even a paragraph in and I'm already making up words. We're off to a great start for yet another year of Novemblog (because I had to be accurate and make up multiple words in this paragraph). For those of you who don't know about Novemblog, well, you're about to. For those of you who do (i.e., the majority of folks reading this), go take five. Smoke a cigarette if that's your thing. Maybe grab some coffee. Skim a Wikipedia article. Cure cancer.
Novemblog is, simply put, a terrible idea. I mean, it's currently 12:05 AM on November 2nd, which means I'm missing deadlines already. I'm exhausted from a day of getting fluids pumped out of me (not like that), getting fluids pumped back into me (also not like that), warming fluids (still not like that), squirting fluids onto smoothish surfaces (NOW it's like- wait, no. Nope. Still not like that. Huh.), and then having an ill-advised beer.
More to the point, Novemblog is my solution to National Novel Writing Month (NaNoWriMo for the hip folks out there). Rather than put in the focus and effort required to write a cohesive piece of literature (yeah, I'm really stretching the definition right now), I go ahead and shoot for the word requirement (50,000 words over the course of the month) into a series of blog posts (most of which have way too many parentheticals, which is another made up word according to Firefox). Let's face it- there's a lot of word padding, because one thousand six hundred and sixty-seven is a rather large number, and it gets longer when you have to write words for the entirety of said number.
There are plenty of previous Novemblog posts out there (at least 60, which is as many as six tens and is therefore terrible and a half if stolen by Lex Luthor), and they are of vastly varying quality. Vastly varying value, if you will, which you sort of have to if you're reading this. Like I said, I'm history's greatest monster. According to the internet and Matt Groening, that makes me Jimmy Carter. For more of my exploits, I encourage you to visit here. There have been attempts at travelogues, attempts at Dada and the surreal, but mostly, there's just a lot of padding. I mean, just look at this entry. I've taken over four hundred words to tell you about Novemblog. The folks who I told to read the Wikipedia article on coffee-flavored cigarettes have already moved on to investigating its mechanism of carcinogenicity. That's right. The Wikipedia article on coffee-flavored cigarettes causes cancer. It's all good, though- it's just a little cancer like a glomus tumor. I mean, that's really like the Screech Powers of cancers. "Oh, look at me, I'm called a tumor, so I must be dangerous, even though I'm really just a bunch of vascular tissue that's probably benign. But if I cause distant metastases, watch out! I really might do it!" Because, see, Screech was always viewed as a nerd because Dustin Diamond is a pretty terrible person and looks like he'd be socially awkward, so they had him say lines about robots and things, because all nerds have robots, right? Why, just the other day at nerd club, I was talking about how it's really a shame that we can't share all of our robots with the rest of the world because they would go mad with power. This was right before we made our robots feed us grapes and then fight to the death, which was funny because robots can't die, what with them not being living things. It was all incredibly droll. In fact, it was almost as droll as when I was at nerd camp in the summer of 2005 (a good year for nerd camp) and we made a robot feel emotions just to tell it that it couldn't have emotions because it doesn't have a soul. Wacky fun.
Now that we've gotten some the vaguely satirical but mostly sociopathic bit out of the way (just like ol' Johnny Swift!), well, for now at least, because you never know when it's going to pop up again, what with the growing bitterness in the world and the endlessly encroaching ennuie (because alliteration isn't just for pep rallies anymore, as pep rallies really deserve no claim to anything EVER- I mean, hey, you get out of class for an hour to watch some people yell about your school's team and how they're the best team ever despite their losing record, and that's why each class has to show why they're the best class. After all, there can only be one.)
Anyway, if you followed back to the sentence that started before I went off on another tangent dealing with pep rallies and how I never much cared for them or liked them, I mean, come on, let me finish my freaking homework so I can do extracurricular activities I care about (or pretend to for the sake of college applications), yeah that old sentence, maybe we'll realize that Rob probably had an idea about what was going to happen there and then forgot all about it. Truly, he is a wordsmith of the highest order (hey, that was one of those extracurricular activities I took on and didn't even manage to pretend to care about).
And now, dear readers, pay close attention, because Rob is feeling chilly (as his room is somewhat in the shade, and that means that when the days get brisk, Rob is freezing his friggin' nubs off, as he has lost fingers to the chilblains of years past), which means it's time for him to grab a bourbon. Sometimes this has already happened. Usually that means that Rob is pretty desperate. Tonight, it just means that he's friggin' freezing.
Nah, he's totally desperate. Somebody cast him in a nineties Robert Rodriguez flick, because he's a regular Desperato.
He also turned on some Turisas. This was probably not a wise decision. That's some freaking delicious bourbon. He also came across the O. Henry Pun-Off Twitter feed, which is pretty amazing. I strongly recommend it. Rob probably does, too. Yeah, the Turisas is wonderful but is an absolutely terrible decision, as most musics with vocals tend to be for his focus. That's why we're switching to some Holst. Imagine, if you will, supervillainy galore with strings playing at a rapid staccato. Better yet, just listen to the friggin' music. Mars, The Bringer of War. It's okay. I'll wait.
The bourbon, as is often the case, is a double-edged sword (which, I mean, aren't most swords? I guess machetes aren't, and maybe some katanas? I don't know. I don't know, guys.). It's loosening things up a bit, but at the cost of focus, which is why we've gone from Turisas to Holst to bourbon to discussions of the effects of bourbons to swords (which was actually earlier, but, hey, best learn now that time is an illusion on the Novemblog. Lunchtime is not an illusion because Novemblog rarely happens during the diurnal hours.).
Aw shit we just got to the big four minute mark. You know the one. You don't know that you know the one, but you know the one.
Also, Pluto is not a planet according to Holst. DID HE KNOW BEFOREHAND? IF YOU IGNORE FBI EVIDENCE, THEN IT'S CLEAR THAT ABRAHAM ZAPRUDER CHANGED THE IAU DEFINITION OF A PLANET WITH A CAMERA GUN- A GUN DISGUISED AS A CAMERA. CAMERAS STEAL SOULS. SOULS ARE EYES. EYES ARE NEEDLES. THERE ARE FIVE NEEDLES. FIVE. QUID PRO QUO. (With all apologies to David Willis and no apologies whatsoever to elishka, the Yahoo Answers account obsessed with the JFK assassination and the KFC secret recipe.)
And as we draw our first Novemblog to a close (well over an hour after it should have been posted), I would like to share a story that's somewhat apropos, as daylight savings time approaches its end. In the 8th grade, I was in a class taught by one who we'll call Ms. B. It was a US History class, and I was only in her class for a week before they reorganized the students and I got switched to a different team. Yes, in all things, middle school was a shitshow. Anyhoo, I remember that in one of the early days, she asked if anyone knew the story behind daylight savings time. I, armed with the knowledge of watching way too many episodes of the Powerpuff Girls (because I had such an active social life in 8th grade), recalled that Benjamin Franklin had proposed it as a means of economizing on candles. Now, according to Wikipedia, such a thing happened but was purely satirical, due to the lack of rigorous scheduling at the time. Ms. B, though, said that I was just patently wrong, and it was actually farmers needing to be up earlier for harvest that set up daylight savings time. I initially took her at her word, but it's one of those things that I remember far better than I should because I hold a grudge like a champ (or a Japanese horror movie). Tonight, I took a look at the ol' Wikipedia (as you may have gathered by my earlier statement starting with "Now, according to Wikipedia" aw whoops spoilers), and, okay, fine, she was mostly correct, EXCEPT it was an entomologist who really proposed it, so I mean, who was really right? After all, entomologists collect bugs, which are used extensively in Chinese foods, such as the night market in Wangfujing, where there were multiple palaces of the Qing dynasty. Dynasty shares a root with the Serbian film series Zikina Dinastija, which was aired on the bus I took to Serbia and was terrible. Ergo, daylight savings time is a conspiracy by 8th grade social studies teachers to force me into watching unwatchable Serbian movies and slowly drive me insane.
I don't think it's working.
Novemblog is, simply put, a terrible idea. I mean, it's currently 12:05 AM on November 2nd, which means I'm missing deadlines already. I'm exhausted from a day of getting fluids pumped out of me (not like that), getting fluids pumped back into me (also not like that), warming fluids (still not like that), squirting fluids onto smoothish surfaces (NOW it's like- wait, no. Nope. Still not like that. Huh.), and then having an ill-advised beer.
 |
| On the one hand, this beer was given a 9.25 by the source webpage (The Brewstraveler, to whom I'm sorry I don't give more appropriate citation- I am history's greatest monster). On the other hand, it's a sour, which is almost always ill-advised. |
More to the point, Novemblog is my solution to National Novel Writing Month (NaNoWriMo for the hip folks out there). Rather than put in the focus and effort required to write a cohesive piece of literature (yeah, I'm really stretching the definition right now), I go ahead and shoot for the word requirement (50,000 words over the course of the month) into a series of blog posts (most of which have way too many parentheticals, which is another made up word according to Firefox). Let's face it- there's a lot of word padding, because one thousand six hundred and sixty-seven is a rather large number, and it gets longer when you have to write words for the entirety of said number.
There are plenty of previous Novemblog posts out there (at least 60, which is as many as six tens and is therefore terrible and a half if stolen by Lex Luthor), and they are of vastly varying quality. Vastly varying value, if you will, which you sort of have to if you're reading this. Like I said, I'm history's greatest monster. According to the internet and Matt Groening, that makes me Jimmy Carter. For more of my exploits, I encourage you to visit here. There have been attempts at travelogues, attempts at Dada and the surreal, but mostly, there's just a lot of padding. I mean, just look at this entry. I've taken over four hundred words to tell you about Novemblog. The folks who I told to read the Wikipedia article on coffee-flavored cigarettes have already moved on to investigating its mechanism of carcinogenicity. That's right. The Wikipedia article on coffee-flavored cigarettes causes cancer. It's all good, though- it's just a little cancer like a glomus tumor. I mean, that's really like the Screech Powers of cancers. "Oh, look at me, I'm called a tumor, so I must be dangerous, even though I'm really just a bunch of vascular tissue that's probably benign. But if I cause distant metastases, watch out! I really might do it!" Because, see, Screech was always viewed as a nerd because Dustin Diamond is a pretty terrible person and looks like he'd be socially awkward, so they had him say lines about robots and things, because all nerds have robots, right? Why, just the other day at nerd club, I was talking about how it's really a shame that we can't share all of our robots with the rest of the world because they would go mad with power. This was right before we made our robots feed us grapes and then fight to the death, which was funny because robots can't die, what with them not being living things. It was all incredibly droll. In fact, it was almost as droll as when I was at nerd camp in the summer of 2005 (a good year for nerd camp) and we made a robot feel emotions just to tell it that it couldn't have emotions because it doesn't have a soul. Wacky fun.
Now that we've gotten some the vaguely satirical but mostly sociopathic bit out of the way (just like ol' Johnny Swift!), well, for now at least, because you never know when it's going to pop up again, what with the growing bitterness in the world and the endlessly encroaching ennuie (because alliteration isn't just for pep rallies anymore, as pep rallies really deserve no claim to anything EVER- I mean, hey, you get out of class for an hour to watch some people yell about your school's team and how they're the best team ever despite their losing record, and that's why each class has to show why they're the best class. After all, there can only be one.)
 |
| "Get in the car, loser, we're going shopping." |
Anyway, if you followed back to the sentence that started before I went off on another tangent dealing with pep rallies and how I never much cared for them or liked them, I mean, come on, let me finish my freaking homework so I can do extracurricular activities I care about (or pretend to for the sake of college applications), yeah that old sentence, maybe we'll realize that Rob probably had an idea about what was going to happen there and then forgot all about it. Truly, he is a wordsmith of the highest order (hey, that was one of those extracurricular activities I took on and didn't even manage to pretend to care about).
And now, dear readers, pay close attention, because Rob is feeling chilly (as his room is somewhat in the shade, and that means that when the days get brisk, Rob is freezing his friggin' nubs off, as he has lost fingers to the chilblains of years past), which means it's time for him to grab a bourbon. Sometimes this has already happened. Usually that means that Rob is pretty desperate. Tonight, it just means that he's friggin' freezing.
Nah, he's totally desperate. Somebody cast him in a nineties Robert Rodriguez flick, because he's a regular Desperato.
 |
| Earlier tonight, Rob said, "I don't like to think of it as twenty-nine. I like to think of it as twenty-ja." I didn't want to Rob you of that pun. |
The bourbon, as is often the case, is a double-edged sword (which, I mean, aren't most swords? I guess machetes aren't, and maybe some katanas? I don't know. I don't know, guys.). It's loosening things up a bit, but at the cost of focus, which is why we've gone from Turisas to Holst to bourbon to discussions of the effects of bourbons to swords (which was actually earlier, but, hey, best learn now that time is an illusion on the Novemblog. Lunchtime is not an illusion because Novemblog rarely happens during the diurnal hours.).
Aw shit we just got to the big four minute mark. You know the one. You don't know that you know the one, but you know the one.
 |
| Not that One, though. |
 |
| Not that Juan either. |
And as we draw our first Novemblog to a close (well over an hour after it should have been posted), I would like to share a story that's somewhat apropos, as daylight savings time approaches its end. In the 8th grade, I was in a class taught by one who we'll call Ms. B. It was a US History class, and I was only in her class for a week before they reorganized the students and I got switched to a different team. Yes, in all things, middle school was a shitshow. Anyhoo, I remember that in one of the early days, she asked if anyone knew the story behind daylight savings time. I, armed with the knowledge of watching way too many episodes of the Powerpuff Girls (because I had such an active social life in 8th grade), recalled that Benjamin Franklin had proposed it as a means of economizing on candles. Now, according to Wikipedia, such a thing happened but was purely satirical, due to the lack of rigorous scheduling at the time. Ms. B, though, said that I was just patently wrong, and it was actually farmers needing to be up earlier for harvest that set up daylight savings time. I initially took her at her word, but it's one of those things that I remember far better than I should because I hold a grudge like a champ (or a Japanese horror movie). Tonight, I took a look at the ol' Wikipedia (as you may have gathered by my earlier statement starting with "Now, according to Wikipedia" aw whoops spoilers), and, okay, fine, she was mostly correct, EXCEPT it was an entomologist who really proposed it, so I mean, who was really right? After all, entomologists collect bugs, which are used extensively in Chinese foods, such as the night market in Wangfujing, where there were multiple palaces of the Qing dynasty. Dynasty shares a root with the Serbian film series Zikina Dinastija, which was aired on the bus I took to Serbia and was terrible. Ergo, daylight savings time is a conspiracy by 8th grade social studies teachers to force me into watching unwatchable Serbian movies and slowly drive me insane.
I don't think it's working.
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